


And I saw sparks

by juxtapose



Series: Must've Done Something Right (We should get jerseys, 'cause we make a good team) [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-04
Updated: 2012-07-04
Packaged: 2017-11-09 03:36:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/450804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juxtapose/pseuds/juxtapose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cap had always made sure the mission came first. Then Tony Stark had to screw all that up, didn't he?</p>
            </blockquote>





	And I saw sparks

**Author's Note:**

> Here I bring Part Three. All you comic book readers out there know that AIM is actually an enemy terrorist group in the 'Avenger' comics somewhere down the line that create machinery and weapons and aren't very nice at all thanks very much (from what I understand through research, anyway). I use them to my liking here which means they're probably not used correctly, but bear with me, if you would.
> 
> Enjoy?
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I own nothing.

_Red and gold and fire._

Steve remembers seeing a flash of red and gold before the fire sprouted in crackling wisps and smoke, engulfing everything. 

Just beforehand, though, had been Natasha’s shout over the sounds of gunfire and screaming New Yorkers: “Cap, what’s your call? We gotta move fast!”

Her voice had sounded miles away, and yet he felt her standing there, felt all of them just _waiting_. Listening for his instruction, because they fancy him a leader, and maybe that’s how it ought to be, but looking back on everything that’s happened, Captain America isn’t sure he’s meant for this.

At the time, he’d squared his shoulders and turned to Black Widow, saying, “You and Hawkeye take the perimeter. Make sure any civilians caught in the crossfire be taken to safety. Work with the police; they’ll keep people moving. Hulk.” He turned to the big green monster, seeing a glint of Bruce Banner’s eyes in the creature’s all the same. “See those big flying things up there?”

He watched the beast’s gaze snap upwards before the Hulk nodded slowly at the jets speeding across the sky. “Smash those, okay?”

Hulk hadn’t needed to be told twice.

“Thor, AIM has some cyborgs coming our way, and if HYDRA had even the slightest involvement in approving their machinery, we’ve got a lot to handle. I’d like you to stay down here with me and keep them from getting any further into the city.”

“That I shall.” Hammer in a clenched fist, Thor nodded determinedly.

Cap lifted his shield, ready to take on whatever was ahead, when the unmistakable voice of Tony Stark rang in his ears, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up: “Uh, Cap? Forgetting someone? Listen, I’m having JARVIS try to get a reading on the mechanics of the jets; if I can . . .”

Steve heard Tony’s voice, but all he was really listening to were the highs and lows of his pitch, the way each syllable drummed against Steve’s senses; his thoughts wrapped around the almost-feel of the lips that released those sounds on Steve’s own as “You'll Never Know" played on and on--

Damn it all to hell, he was doing it again. Tony Stark was infiltrating Steve Rogers’ focus, his drive and determination toward the _task at hand_ , and this was exactly why Cap had no intention of letting Stark walk all over the mission like usual. Advanced Idea Mechanics weren't backing down without a fight, and Steve intended to give them one.

“Tony, just. Help the Hulk with the jets before they circle in too close. Don't do anything stupid. I need you to stay out of trouble. Got it?"

“Um. Roger that, Grandpa. I promise I won’t take any candy from any cyborg strangers, okay? My point is, if I can just--"

“This isn't negotiable." Almost surprised at the coldness of his own words, Cap didn't have much time to reflect, because AIM was closing in. Stark’s voice quieted in his ears (and in his mind), and the battle began. All the personal thoughts that had been clawing at the edge of Steve’s consciousness were replaced by the roar of the Hulk from above, the heavy swing of Thor’s hammer sending bits of machinery flying everywhere, the shouts of policemen and SHIELD agents nearby.

He was fighting off enemy bots it seemed every which way, Thor’s angry war cries close behind him, when it happened again: “Uh, Cap?”

“Not now, Stark,” Steve grunts, shouldering off about three bots at once. 

“Seriously, I don’t know what stick you have up your--”

“-- _Stark!_ \--”

“--today, but I really, truly _implore_ you to listen to--”

There was an almost piercing crackling noise then, and Cap lifted his free hand to cover his ear, squinting, while Thor shouted behind him, “What’s happened to the Man of Iron?”

It was a valid question. Stark’s communication system had been abruptly cut off, and it didn’t take long to figure out why. A deafening screeching sound shot through the sky, and Cap looked up to find one of the larger jets spiraling toward them, glints of red and gold shimmering below it. Tony had _hold_ of a jet, and it was headed straight for them.

“Dammit, back up! Everyone get back _now_!” He’d barely said the words when everything seemed to happen at once.

On the one hand, the bots around them got a nice taste of their own medicine. But on the other--

 _Red and gold and fire._ The jet dug into the pavement, leaving fire and smoke in its wake, and Iron Man crushed under its aftermath.

“Shit, Tony’s under there!” Clint shouted, and everything seemed to pass in surges of blurs after that, with Thor and the Hulk and Cap himself trying to pull pieces of the jet apart while Natasha and Clint fought off the remaining bots and ensured there had been no civilian casualties, and SHIELD copters started circling the mess and nothing made any truly coherent, solid sense in Steve’s mind until these words:

Natasha, crying out, “Tony! You okay?”

And Tony Stark, battered, twisted under the rubble, one lone streak of blood trickling down the side of his face, muttering, “Peachy."

* * * * * * * *

_Left. Left. Right. Swing. Duck. Right. Right. Repeat._

When Steve is stressed out, he likes to punch things. Unfortunately punching things at random is generally frowned upon in society, so that, Steve figures, is what training rooms are for. The training room at Stark Tower, naturally, is ridiculously large and contains a ridiculous amount of punching bags because when Tony stark builds something it’s got to be ostentatious, hasn’t it?

At this point, though, Steve considers the training room a godsend, because he could really use the calming down, and the time alone. He knows SHIELD will be nagging him for a debriefing sooner or later, but he figures he may as well take this time while he has it.

No sooner have these thoughts crossed his mind does he hear the little bleeping sounds indicating an access code has been entered on the interactive keypad outside the door. Someone was coming in. Steve doesn’t turn around, almost afraid to see who’s calling on him--

“Captain Rogers.”

 _Oh, hell._ Steve lets his hands fall to his sides, but stares straight at the punching bag as he greets, “Director Fury.”

“I’ve just finished having a little chat with the rest of your team. Do you mind telling me what the hell happened today during the AIM mission?” As characteristic of him, Cap thinks, Fury doesn’t seem to want to waste any time.

Steve turns to face Fury, watching the director’s eyes--well, eye--narrow at him. He wants to say something like, _I was just trying to complete the mission_ , or maybe even calmly and silently accept a reprimand or two, but instead all he blurts out is a question: “Is Tony all right?”

Fury shoots him a quizzical look before replying, “Yes. Banner helped patch up a stitch or two, but otherwise, the suit took most of the brunt. Almost all of it, actually. I’m surprised he doesn’t have to rebuild the thing from scratch. I’m also surprised you didn’t know the answer to your question already, but then again, there are some _serious_ communication issues happening on this team. Or aren’t you aware?”

Steve bites his lip, averting his eyes to the floor. “It was a mistake, Director. I had no idea Tony intended to take the risk of driving that jet into the ground.”

“Well, evidently he was trying to _tell_ you his plan--and at this point, we have no goddamn idea whether it would’ve been a help or a hindrance. Point is, the chaos that followed could’ve been avoided. You're damn lucky you'd already cleared the civilians to the perimeter. Agent Romanoff says Stark was trying to communicate with _you_ , Captain Rogers. Is that correct?"

“Well, yes, but--"

“Do you know how hard it is to get Stark to communicate with anyone _at all_ , let alone on a mission?” Fury’s voice is hard, disappointment scrawled all over his expression, and Steve feels his own face flushing red with embarrassment. “Look. You two haven’t always gotten along, but in the past few weeks it’s gotten damn ridiculous. You’ve got a city to protect, Rogers. The _world_ to protect. Sort out your little playground spat with Stark, and make it fast."

Steve nods. He knows Fury’s right. He at least owes the man--and the world--this promise. “Yes, sir," he says.

Fury’s stance relaxes a little, his scowl softening slightly. “You’re both much bigger than this, Rogers. Time to start acting like it. I’ve seen you do it--both of you. So I know you can. And you will.”

Steve runs a hand over his face wearily as he looks after Fury walking away. He knows what he has to do now. He knows he hasn’t a choice.

* * * * * * * *

Tony is in his workshop, drilling away at what appears to be Iron Man‘s left armplate. Steve watches him through the glass door, feeling very much frozen in place, which says a lot considering he actually had been frozen in place for seventy years in the ocean. He sucks in a deep breath, but stops in mid-exhale when Tony‘s eyes are suddenly on him. _Okay, Steve. Move. Blink. Do something. Anything._ He manages a curt nod, and hears Tony‘s muffled command of, “JARVIS, let him in.”

The door slides open, and Steve takes a few steps forward, trying to hide his discomfort. “So, uh. I hear Banner had to stitch you up."

Tony appraises him, eyes gliding up and down before turning his attention back to the armor. “You know,” he says conversationally, “believe it or not, getting driven into the pavement by a machine-controlled jet can really do a number on a suit made of iron.” He pauses to put down the drill. “How goes it, Rogers? I’m guessing Fury sent you.”

It’s infuriating, Steve thinks, how utterly casual Tony can be about all this. He tries to play along: “What makes you say that?”

“Well, you’ve made a habit lately of becoming scarce when I’m around, so clearly you’re not seeking me out of your own volition. Did you get a _reprimand_? Did Fury slap your wrists a little? It’s okay. He slapped mine too.” Tony’s back is turned but Steve can all but _feel_ him grinning, the bastard. (Cap considers himself a patient guy. Tony’s purpose in life seems to be to try said patience.)

“Why did you have to go off on your own like that?” He cuts right to the chase, not wanting to make small talk anymore, mostly because the idea of making small talk with Tony after . . . everything that’s gone on in the past few weeks feels like a whole lot of Bad Things, the least of which extremely daunting. “People could’ve died, Tony. You could’ve--” He cuts himself short, feeling heat rise in his cheeks. “It was reckless, and it was stupid,” he finishes.

By this point, Tony has spun in his chair to face Steve, shrugging. “It’s not like I was disobeying orders. Except for the ones you, oh, _didn’t give_ because you were too busy blowing me off. No worries--I wouldn’t have listened anyway." Steve clenches his fists, about to intervene when Tony finishes, “Regardless, I did what I thought was right. And that’s more than I can say for you.”

“What?” Steve sputters.

“If you’d just _listened_ for a second, Cap, you could’ve cleared the pavement way ahead of time, I would’ve had time to spin the jet around, and JARVIS could’ve analyzed the schematics instead of getting my suit all crushed to bits." This is the first time in a while Steve's heard Tony sound genuinely angry, or at the very least annoyed, breaking through his usual demeanor of nonchalance. “Look, it’s fine. But I’d really like to know what I did to receive the cold star-spangled shoulder these past few weeks. Enlighten me.”

Steve shakes his head. “Look. I made a bad call. Or, rather . . . I didn’t make one at all. It’s killing me that I screwed this up. Normally I can focus on what I’ve got to do to keep this place safe, and lately I’ve been . . . distracted. All I’m doing is trying to . . . get rid of that distraction. Work my way around it." He chooses his words meticulously. “None of that has to be your business. All we have to do is start communicating more efficiently and it will all--”

Tony stands suddenly and moves forward, sending Steve‘s heart into a series of fast-paced flutters that are probably not physically healthy. “Subtlety isn’t your strong suit, is it, Cap?”

Steve says nothing, for Tony’s glare is locked on his. He clasps his hands behind his back, despite the urge to reach out . . . 

Tony‘s face is a mere inches from Steve‘s, and the proximity is all too familiar. “When you told me to stay out of trouble, you meant stay _away_. And I get it now, Rogers. I do." He grins in that horribly enticing sort of way. “ _I’m_ trouble. For _you_. Am I right?”

_Red and gold and fire._

There is the shining glint of Tony’s suit behind him, a reminder of his other side, his counterpart. And in Tony’s eyes are sparks of fire, igniting in Steve what he’s tried to push into the dark corners of his mind and heart.

“We . . . we haven’t talked about it,” he practically chokes out. The admission feels stale on his lips, like he knows he should’ve said it ages ago.

“Newsflash, Capsicle. We haven’t talked about much at all lately since you’re being all avoid-y.”

Steve clenches his fists. “You _know_ what I mean, Tony. The night you . . .” He clears his throat, finally forcing himself to say it, knowing it will make it an even truer, more terrifying truth: “The night we . . . ”

“Danced?” The throatiness of Tony’s voice adds a whole new meaning to the word, and Steve feels a little sick, the pit of his stomach churning with a combination of nerves and something . . . else. Warm, unnameable.

He manages a nod, and Tony says, “What’s there to talk about?”

 _Everything. About the way you’re distracting me from doing my job. How it isn’t right . . . the way it felt having you that close to me, the thing we almost did, could have done if . . ._ “Nothing. I just . . . I think we should address that it’s causing some awkwardness--”

“For you, maybe. Look.” Tony throws his hands up. “If you recall, you didn’t even show _up_ to the gala the next night, and since then _you’ve_ been all weird. This isn’t my problem. It’s yours.”

The words fall on Steve’s ears like heavy rain, because they’re no word of a lie. Tony’s taking this lightly as he does _everything_ , while Cap can barely wrap his head around what happened between them. “So. We should just act like it never happened. It didn’t mean anything. Is that what you’re saying?” He keeps his voice as even as possible.

( _"You knew I’d know this song. That’s why you’re playing it..."_ )

Something flashes across Tony’s expression, all too quickly for Cap to analyze, and he retorts, “I . . . of course it didn’t _mean_ anything. It was kind of hot up there, pretty sure there was a star-filled sky, mood music, you know. Add that to the fact that I’m irresistible and, well. There you have it. No hard feelings, right? Let’s assume ‘right’, because I really don’t feel like being driven a foot into the ground again because you’re feeling all moody.” There’s an oddness to Tony’s voice that Steve can’t quite place.

He says, “Yeah,” but can’t help but notice that Tony hasn’t moved an inch for quite some time. “The . . . the mission is what’s important." He lets his eyes roam, taking in the way Tony’s black t-shirt outlines the curves of his muscles, the intensity of his gaze, the way his hands--

\--are making their way to either side of the wall, trapping Steve. _Oh, golly._ “Your problem,” he whispers, “is that you care so much.”

Steve leans into Tony’s surrounding heat, touching his forehead to Tony’s. “And you don’t.”

“Exactly.” Tony’s shaking a little. Steve knows this because Tony has pressed himself up against Steve just enough that he can feel the vibration of his body.

“Right. Of course. Tony Nothing-Matters-to-Me Stark,” Steve breathes, a small smile making its way across his face at the sight of Tony looking wide-eyed and completely--unnaturally--disarmed.

“Aw. We’re on a middle-name basis now, Rogers? This is really a step forward in our relation--”

At this precise moment, Steve Rogers, Captain America, Avenger and protector of Earth, completely loses control. He closes the remaining space between their two bodies, crushing his lips against Tony’s and bringing a hand to tangle his fingers into Tony’s hair. He feels Tony respond to his touch with surprise at first, then passion, pressing Steve all the way back against the glass with a shove, letting his hands linger on Steve’s chest with heat that feels like the best kind of friction, electric, the strangest and the best feeling Steve’s ever known and then--

_I’m back in black / I hit the sack / I’ve been too long and I’m glad to be back . . ._

And then Tony’s cell phone rings. _Reality_ spins back into view. Steve has never hated modern technology more than right now.

“Pepper Potts calling, sir,” is JARVIS’ voice. He sounds almost apologetically uncomfortable. For an AI.

Steve pulls away from Tony, who takes a step back, breathing hard, fumbling around in his jean pockets for his phone. His usually suave movements have been replaced by an awkward, abrupt flailing of limbs, and if Steve were not feeling an overwhelming combination of embarrassment and frustration he’d probably be chuckling about the fact that he’s reduced the great Tony Stark to _this_.

The phone continues to ring, Tony holding it in a flexed hand. Suddenly, he says (so quietly that Steve almost doesn’t catch it), “I don’t have to answer that.”

That does it for Steve. His morals, having happily skipped away at the sensation of Tony’s lips on his, are crawling back to the forefront of his mind. Tony has a life with Pepper. Steve has a team to lead and a whole lot of self-discovery to make. And besides, the mission comes first. Protecting the world comes first.

He is first and foremost Captain America, then Steve Rogers. And that’s how it’s got to be.

“Tony,” he mutters, averting his eyes to the suit of iron behind the ( (the complicated, annoying, frustrating, impossible) man who bears it, “Answer your phone.”

If he didn’t know any better, Steve would think he sees something deeply sad in the chocolate brown of Tony’s eyes as he slowly lifts the cell phone to his ear and says, “Hey, you.”

And with that, Steve watches Tony turn away from him before doing so himself.

 _I’m a soldier_ , he reminds himself as he exits, _I’ve got a job to complete, and the best thing I can do . . ._

He half-turns in the doorway, just for a moment. Something clenches in his chest--a feeling he can only remember experiencing when he was young, fragile, before the serum, before everything changed--and he forces himself to keep moving, hearing the echoes of Tony’s laughter and conversation behind him drift farther and farther away.

_. . . is walk through the fire._

So Steve does. And amongst all the scars and burns that scorch his heart with every step, he holds his head high.


End file.
